Incurable
by Marauding
Summary: "It was as though nobody could see the shackles that bound him, as though nobody could hear him screaming 'I am lost, I am lost' – nobody knew and nobody helped because Regulus Black was incurable." / The fractured exploration of Regulus Black's mind, T for infrequent swearing.


_The following characters are of J. K. Rowling's creation._

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"_You don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death."  
- Sirius Black, estranged brother of the noble R.A.B._

Regulus leant against the iron railing, rust marring skin. His hands were held in front of him, shaking, as he looked out across at the stupid identical houses with their stupid identical yards – all uniform, as if they were stone soldiers. Bang, bang, bang. His skin was a prison; Regulus wanted to crawl out, to strip the layers away. It was as though somebody had filled his organs with tar – he was suffocating, lungs choking and blood wavering and was this how his life was supposed to go? He felt himself falling forward, head connecting with knees, knees connecting with ground.

It was as though nobody could see the shackles that bound him, as though nobody could hear him screaming _I am lost, I am lost – _nobody knew and nobody helped because Regulus Black was incurable.

She had a laugh that sounded like glass and she probably smelt of autumn. The red haired girl excelled at Charms. She was a Mudblood, though the word felt foreign in his mouth. He'd seen her, shooting stars at his brother and his brother's stupid friends. Useless fucking Gryffindors with useless fucking hope. Like Juliet, her beauty could teach the flames; her gentle waves and chipped tooth and soft cheeks and thin wrists, as though somebody had moulded the skin to the bone, and stupid stupid stupid fucking Gryffindors with their stupid fucking hope.

The fence was below him, full of metal and spikes. He'd signed his name on one of the poles when he was younger – he'd been forever doing that, claiming property, leaving prints upon the world. He wondered whether it was still there. He supposed it didn't matter; nobody knew and nobody cared and he was still so God-damn insignificant. A lean to a fall to a landing; cold, abrupt, blood filling lungs and ribs silencing heart and cool, indifferent death. Kreacher would probably find him, impaled, the locket wound across his neck.

Her name was Lily Evans. He wanted to kiss her not because she was pretty (she was, oh, oh how he loved her dimples and her fingers and the way she wore her smile) but because she represented all of his taught hate.

_I am lost, I am lost._

Horcruxes and stupid tattoos and brothers that wouldn't even _look _at him and when had everything begun to fall apart? Regulus remembered graduation, full of peers he didn't know the name of, boys who'd drifted and girls he'd been too afraid to touch. The Great Hall had been a montage of crying mothers and hugging friends and Regulus had stood alone, fatherless and branded with a stupid Dark Mark that didn't mean anything to him anymore and _I am lost, I am lost, peel away my skin and _notice _me. _Sometimes Regulus would walk through the avenues forever and ever, watching cobbles turn to dirt, dirt turn to sand, sand turn to water, but the streets always linked back in on themselves and he would end up back outside of Grimmauld Place, blood running and lungs drowning, unable to shed his security. It was so very tiring and he was so very sick of everything; he wanted somebody to hold him and stroke his hair in the way that mothers were want to do.

_Inferi and acid, M-Master Black! They were p-pulling me down but I stayed because you asked me, Ma-Master. I stayed because Master Black asked me to._

Inferi and acid; everything was getting far too serious for Regulus, who was almost certain that this was not the way that his life was supposed to go. Heir to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, blood as pure as the hatred in his heart. Supremacy and rules and straight postures and rotting tapestries and cold parents and distant cousins and nobody nobody nobody cared Regulus had nobody nobody nobody fucking nobody except for an aging elf and a dirty tattoo and learnt anger.

_I am alone and I am mortal._

The Dark Lord had seemed like a romantic route – the restoration of blood order would enforce the Black's supremacy; mother would be proud and the threats would stop and hah, Sirius! Regulus would rise to greatness and the Death Eaters would win and Sirius would be wrong but (Regulus would still be alone) then Orion Black had died and his mother had started to scream _ignorant sons with good-for-nothing morals ignorant ignorant sons _and the Dark Lord had asked for the use of Kreacher and then Kreacher hadn't returned because _Inferi and acid and p-pulling down _and Regulus was really so very tired.

The fence was too far away. Regulus felt bloody miserable.

He looked at his hands, shaking, their skin stretched tight and pale. Nimble. Regulus was good at potions. He was not Sirius-good (he was Regulus-good, he was Regulus-good, he was good enough). Sirius had always had fire in his veins – he'd engulf rooms and he'd engulf people. Regulus had never been able to do that, too scared to scream, too despondent to try; he was wilting from the inside, blood turning to ash, empathy turning to emptiness. Taught hate and branded skin and a poisoned house-elf and a fractured soul and lying cousins and a dead father and nobody nobody nobody noticed and nobody nobody cared because Regulus was weak and Regulus was exhausted and –

"_Fight! Fight for my master, the defender of the house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus!"_

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_A/N: Extremely fractured, rough one shot, apologies. Thank you for reading!_


End file.
